BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA

FOUNDED IN 1881 BY HENRY LEE HIGGINSON

SEVENTY-SIXTH SEASON *95 6 -*957

Carnegie Hall, New York TANGLEWOOD 1957 The Boston Symphony Orchestra

CHARLES MUNCH, Music Director

The Berkshire Festival Twentieth Season CHARLES MUNCH, Conductor

The Berkshire Music Center Fifteenth Season CHARLES MUNCH, Director

To receive further announcements, write to Festival Office, Symphony Hall, Boston Carnegie Hall, New York Seventy-First Season in New York

SEVENTY-SIXTH SEASON, 1956-1957 Boston Symphony Orchestra

CHARLES MUNCH, Music Director

Richard Burgin, Associate Conductor

Concert Bulletin of the Fourth Concerts

WEDNESDAY EVENING, February 6, at 8:45

SATURDAY AFTERNOON, February 9, at 2:30

with historical and descriptive notes by John N. Burk

The TRUSTEES of the BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA, Inc.

Henry B. Cabot . President

Jacob J. Kaplan . Vice-President

Richard C. Paine . Treasurer

Talcott M. Banks, Jr. E. Morton Jennings, Jr. Theodore P. Ferris Michael T. Kelleher Alvan T. Fuller Palfrey Perkins Francis W. Hatch Charles H. Stockton Harold D. Hodgkinson Edward A. Taft C. D. Jackson Raymond S. Wilkins Oliver Wolcott TRUSTEES EMERITUS Philip R. Allen M. A. DeWolfe Howe N. Penrose Hallowell Lewis Perry

Thomas D. Perry, Jr., Manager G. W. Rector ^ Assistant J. J. Brosnahan, Assistant Treasurer

N. S. Shirk ) Managers Rosario Mazzeo, Personnel Manager

[1] Boston Symphony Orchestra

(Seventy-sixth Season, 1956-1957) CHARLES MUNCH, Music Director RICHARD BURGIN, Associate Conductor PERSONNEL Violins Violas Bassoons Richard Burgin Joseph de Pasquale Sherman Walt Concert-master Jean Cauhape Ernst Panenka Alfred Krips Eugen Lehner Theodore Brewster Albert Bernard George Zazofsky Contra-Bassoon Rolland Tapley George Humphrey Richard Plaster Norbert Lauga Jerome Lipson Robert Karol Vladimir Resnikoff Horns Harry Dickson Reuben Green James Stagliano Gottfried Wilfinger Bernard Kadinoff Vincent Charles Yancich Einar Hansen Mauricci Harry Shapiro John Fiasca Joseph Leibovici Harold Meek Earl Hedberg Emil Kornsand Paul Keaney Roger Shermont Violoncellos Osbourne McConathy Minot Beale Samuel Mayes Herman Silberman Alfred Zighera Trumpets Stanley Benson Jacobus Langendoen Roger Voisin Leo Panasevich Mischa Nieland Marcel Lafosse Armando Ghitalla Karl Sheldon Rotenberg Zeise Gerard Goguen Fredy Ostrovsky Josef Zimbler Bernard Parronchi Trombones Clarence Knudson Martin Hoherman Pierre Mayer William Gibson Louis Berger Manuel Zung William Moyer Richard Kapuscinski Samuel Diamond Kauko Kahila Robert Ripley Josef Orosz Victor Manusevitch James Nagy Tuba Melvin Bryant Flutes K. Vinal Smith Lloyd Stonestreet Doriot Anthony Dwyer Saverio Messina James Pappoutsakis Harps Phillip Kaplan William Waterhouse Bernard Zighera William Marshall Piccolo Olivia Luetcke Leonard Moss George Madsen Jesse Ceci Timpani Oboes Noah Bielski Everett Firth Alfred Schneider Ralph Gomberg Harold Farberman Joseph Silverstein Jean Devergie Holmes John Percussion Basses English Horn Charles Smith Georges Moleux Louis Speyer Harold Thompson Arthur Press Gaston Dufresne Clarinets Irving Frankel Gino Cioffi Piano Henry Manuel Valerio Freeman Bernard Zighera Pasquale Henry Portnoi Cardillo Henri Girard E\) Clarinet Library John Barwicki Bass Clarinet Victor Alpert Rosario Mazzeo

[*] SEVENTY-SIXTH SEASON • NINETEEN HUNDRED FIFTY-SIX AND FIFTY-SEVEN

Seventy-First Season in New York

Fourth Evening Concert

WEDNESDAY, February 6

Program

Smit Symphony No. 1 in E-flat

I. Adagio; Allegro moderato

II. Andante sostenuto

III. Allegretto scherzando IV. Allegro vivace (First Performance in New York)

Prokofieff No. 2, in G minor, Op. 16

I. Andantino; Allegretto; Andantino

II. Scherzo: Vivace

III. Intermezzo: Allegro moderato IV. Finale: Allegro tempestoso INTERMISSION

Beethoven Symphony No. 4, in B-flat major, Op. 60

I. Adagio; Allegro vivace

II. Adagio III. Allegro vivace IV. Allegro, ma non troppo

SOLOIST NICOLE HENRIOT Miss Henriot uses the Baldwin Piano

Performances by this orchestra are broadcast each week on Monday evenings from 8:05 to 9:00 P.M. on the NBC Radio Network.

Music of these programs is available at the Music Library, 58th Street Branch, the New York Public Library. BALDWIN PIANO RCA VICTOR RECORDS

[3] SYMPHONY NO. 1, IN E-FLAT By Leo Smit

Born in Philadelphia, January 12, 1921

Leo Smit tells us that the first idea for a symphony came to him in Rome in 1951 and that he completed the score in New York City in the summer of 1955. The Symphony was commissioned by the Koussevitzky Music Foundation for the occasion of the thirtieth anniversary of the League of Composers. It is dedi- cated to the memory of Serge and Natalie Koussevitzky.

The following orchestra is required: 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 2 trombones, timpani, and strings.

'TpHE following brief analysis of his Symphony has been provided -- by the composer:

"The first movement begins with a slow introduction which contains much of the material developed in the main section. The second movement consists of a long theme, three variations and a short coda. The form of the third movement brings in the main section of the scherzo three times and the trio once [the traditional procedure with- out repetition of the trio]. It ends with a tiny coda of two measures. The finale is in sonata form."

Leo Smit won a scholarship at the age of nine for the Curtis Institute of Music, where he studied piano with Mme. Isabelle Vengerova. He studied composition with Nicolas Nabokov. In 1950 he won a Fulbright Scholarship and a Guggenheim Fellowship and spent two years at the American Academy in Rome where, among other things, he composed his Overture, The Parcae. On October 31, 1952, Mr. Smit made his appearance as soloist with this Orchestra in the Piano Concerto of Alexei Haieff, which then had its first concert performance. Mr. Smit was later given the Horblit Award. This Concerto was performed by Mr. Smit in in the summer of 1953 under the direction of Charles Munch, and at the subsequent festival in Venice. Mr. Smit's Overture The Parcae had its first performance October 16, 1953, at these concerts, when the composer also appeared as soloist in Aaron Copland's Piano Concerto. [copyrighted]

Q&

[4] PIANO CONCERTO NO. 2, in G minor, Op. 16 By Serge Prokofieff

Born in Sontsovka, Russia, April 23, 1891; died near Moscow, March 4, 1953

Composed in 1912-1913, ProkofiefPs Second Concerto was first performed August 2 3> 1 9 1 3> at Pavlovsk (near St. Petersburg), Aslanov conducting, the composer playing the solo part. The score, according to Philip Hale, was lost "when his apartment was confiscated [requisitioned?] by the decree of the Soviet Government. Sketches of the piano part were saved. They were taken away by the composer's mother in 1921." It was from these sketches that the composer rewrote the Concerto at Etal in Bavaria in 1923. The revised version was performed in Paris, May 8, 1923, Koussevitzky conducting. Prokofieff was the soloist and performed it for the first time in the United States with this conductor at concerts of the Boston Sym- phony Orchestra in Boston, January 31, February 1, 1930. There was a performance at a Berkshire Festival concert, August 5, 1951, when Eleazar de Carvalho was the conductor and Jorge Bolet the soloist.

TN 1913, Serge Prokofieff, still a student at the St. Petersburg Con- -* servatory, caused considerable commotion in musical circles by performing his Second Concerto at Pavlovsk. His First Concerto heard the year before had warned conservative listeners to expect from the brilliant young pianist (there was no denying his ability as a per- former) an unbridled onslaught upon traditional harmony. The Second Concerto sounded even bolder than the First. The critics of

St. Petersburg must have considered the composer as newsworthy, if only from the point of view of scandal, for they seemed to have been present in Pavlovsk in force. Almost unanimously they attacked him. "The debut of this cubist and futurist," said the reviewer in the Petersburgskaya Gazeta, "has aroused universal interest. Already in the train to Pavlovsk one heard on all sides 'Prokofieff, Prokofieff, Prokofieff.' A new piano star! On the platform appears a lad with the face of a student from the Peterschule [a fashionable school]. He takes his seat at the piano and appears to be either dusting off the keys, or trying out notes with a sharp, dry touch. The audience does

not know what to make of it. Some indignant murmurs are audible.

One couple gets up and runs toward the exit. 'Such music is enough

to drive you crazy!' is the general comment. The hall empties. The young artist ends his concerto with a relentlessly discordant combina-

tion of brasses. The audience is scandalized. The majority hisses. With a mocking bow Prokofieff resumes his seat and plays an encore. The audience flees, with exclamations of: 'To the devil with all this futurist music! We came here for enjoyment. The cats on our roof make better music than this!' " Other Petersburg critics spoke of "a babble of insane sounds," a "musical mess." A lone voice was that of V. G. Karatygin who reported "The fact that the public hissed means

nothing. Ten years from now it will atone for last night's catcalls by unanimous applause for this new composer."*

* These reviews are quoted by Israel V. Nestyev, Serge Prokofieff, His Musical Life.

[5] Unless the revision of 1923 is radically different from the original

version, which is unlikely, it is hard to recognize the Concerto in the

epithets which were hurled at it by the early critics. The "babel of

insane sounds" is in reality a clear, lightly scored and delicately wrought piece, mostly in elementary common time, with an elementary bass and a lyric piano part, varied by pianistic embellishment. What

apparently disturbed its hidebound hearers were the then unaccus- tomed melodic skips and occasional untraditional harmonies, the very characteristics which were later found fresh, piquant, and often entirely charming, the exclusive outcome of this composer's special fantasy in lyricism. The Concerto begins quietly and elegantly, the solo part lightly, but colorfully supported. Here, and throughout, the pianist's

aim must be the utmost crispness and delicacy of touch. There is a middle section with a melody which could have been written by none other than the destined composer of the March from The Love for

Three Oranges. A part for the soloist unaccompanied is not a cadenza but a continuation of the development. This leads to a climax by the

full orchestra and a pianissimo close by the pianist, as if to assure us

that this is after all no concerto in the grand style.

The Scherzo is a swift moto perpetuo for the soloist, in breathless and unbroken sixteenths by the two hands in octave unison. The Intermezzo opens on a theme with a flavor of the Scythian demons or the Suggestions diaboliques. A repeated bass theme with varying embellishment of delicate piano figures approximates a passacaglia.

The Finale at last injects into the Concerto a more traditional

bravura. The pianist has still the commanding part, a dramatic "cadenza" carrying on the development, as in the first movement, and building to a now expectedly brilliant close.

The young man was impossible to ignore. The several piano pieces he had written were violently challenging; the First Concerto had been labelled by one critic as "football music" presumably on account of the way the harmony was kicked around. When Prokofieff brought forth his Scythian Suite (1916) with its piquant barbarism and Sept, Us sont sept (1917) which was even more primitive, Prokofieff began t{ to be called an enfant terrible/' as if he either enjoyed shocking staid people or used violence for the purpose of attracting attention to himself. He became a topic and was compared to the cubists, although he had no very special interest in that school of painting. These were the critics who tended to lump into one category all new ways which they could not comprehend. Any resemblance between Prokofieff's

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[7] early music and the work of the cubists or futurists lay in an impulse to break up conventional lines and express himself boldly and vividly. The comparison was just about as deceptive as the linking of Debussy with the French impressionist poets. Prokofieff then came under the disapproval of such conservatives as Glazounov, the director of the Conservatory where he was studying. When he competed for the first prize, Glazounov was opposed, and was outvoted. Prokofieff won the award, but as pianist, not as com- poser. Medtner made the unintentionally revealing remark: "If that is music, I am no musician." But Prokofieff had his champions, such as the composer Miaskovsky, who was his friend for life, and Igor Glebov (Boris Asafyev), the critic. This outraged attitude toward Prokofieff as a sort of mischievous imp of music, knocking over the block houses of tradition for the clatter they would make, reads strangely in a later day. It would seem in the light of his full-rounded development that the youthful Prokofieff, an artist in whom vitality, fantasy, and skill were already abundant, was merely following out his own ideas to his own ends — ventures always arresting towards ends not always attained. When he was mocking or sharply satirical it was the music and the subject, not the audience, which made him so. The matured composer remained bluntly uncompromising. That he became less experimental is in the nature of growth. The independent spirit of Prokofieff at that time, to which some so strenuously objected

— if they noticed him at all — was eventually recognized as something far sturdier, far deeper, than the irresponsible obstreperousness of which he was once accused. He would at any time give a bludgeoning passage to a full orchestra when he saw fit. While he was always ready to compose descriptive music for the stage or film, he became increas- ingly symphonic and serious in his aims, particularly from the time of the Fifth Symphony. [copyrighted]

NICOLE HENRIOT

^VJicole Henriot was born in Paris on November 23, 1925. She * ^ studied with Marguerite Long and entered the Paris Conversatory at the age of twelve, taking a first prize in a year and a half. During the war she played with the principal orchestras of Paris and Belgium. Her New York press bureau gives the information that she was active in the French resistance together with her two brothers. Since the war she has played in numerous European cities. She made her American debut January 29, 1948, then playing the first of many concerts in this country, including several appearances with this Orchestra.

[8] PROKOFIEFF IN AMERICA

In the spring of 1918, Prokofieff took an unusual step for a citizen of Soviet Russia. He obtained a passport from the People's Com- missar and made his way to the United States. He was then twenty- seven, a celebrity of a sort in Petrograd and Moscow, a subject for musical disputation there, if by no means for general acceptance. In the Western world he was quite unknown, as was all current music in Russia, excepting what Diaghileff had brought to Paris, and this con- sisted principally of music by a real emigre, Stravinsky, whom he had drawn into his orbit, and who would never return to his home land. Prokofieff had penetrated to the powerful presence of the impresario, and at his order composed the ballet Ala and Lolli, in which Diaghileff sought to draw upon primitive, barbaric Russia as had Stravinsky in Le Sacre du Printemps. Ala and Lolli offered another sort of bar- barism. Diaghileff, lukewarm, had failed to produce it, and Prokofieff had made his way back to Russia unheard. He had then turned Ala and Lolli into an orchestral suite, the Scythian Suite, which fresh, stimulating and highly colorful venture into the orchestral field made a sensation in Russia.

In 1918, when Prokofieff first entered America, he was as complete a stranger to us as we were unknown to him. His own country, since the October Revolution, had been quite shut off from the rest of the world. His ambition may have been to build a new fame in unknown territory. Nestyev puts down his motive as "the thirst for new impres- sions, the desire to breathe the fresh, invigorating air of seas and oceans, a persistent and confident striving for world renown." He made his way laboriously across Siberia, where he was delayed by military skirmishes, to Japan where he lingered for two months, and thence to San Francisco and New York. Having left Russia in May, he arrived in September. He carried with him, according to Nestyev, "the scores of the Scythian Suite, the First Piano Concerto, the Classical Symphony, and several piano pieces"; also sketches for an opera on Gozzi's The Love for Three Oranges. He must have felt fortified in

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[9] his quest by the comforting awareness of his first-rate ability as a pianist. In Manhattan, "penniless and friendless," he may well have been appalled at the problem of winning attention. He managed to give a piano recital on November 20, 1918, and on December 10 Modeste Altschuler with his Russian Symphony Orchestra asked the composer to play in his First Concerto, and introduced the Classical Symphony. Both occasions brought from the critics remarks typical of that epoch, when music was so tied up with extraneous circumstances connected

with its title or its composer, that the musical point was quite missed. "Russian chaos in music," "Godless Russia," "Bolshevism in art," "a carnival of cacophony," were remarks waggishly showered upon the

strange visitor, as if the adventurous spirit of this artist exclusively absorbed in his art had been prompted by a political ideology. James Huneker, who was sometimes more absorbed in turning a clever phrase than in lending a conscientious ear, called him a "Cossack Chopin," a "musical agitator." These phrases did not ring out as the clash of weapons in a lusty battle over the rights and wrongs of new music, nor provoke sharp retorts, as had been the case in Petrograd and would be the case in Paris. It must be admitted that public opinion in this country had not yet reached the point of militant factions over such problems. Prokofieff received better attention in Chicago, probably because the Scythian Suite, which achieved a performance under Frederick

Stock, is a work too arresting to dismiss offhand. Nevertheless, the critics fell into the same hazy state of misapplication. The Scythian Suite was "Bolshevist"; "The red flag of anarchy waved tempestuously yesterday over Orchestra Hall." Prokofieff was a curious exotic to be glanced at with a smile and quickly forgotten. He gave a few piano recitals, but they were little noticed. The Chicago Opera Company became interested in his opera project The Love for Three Oranges, but the opera was not to achieve a production until 1921. Prokofieff departed, discouraged and unnoticed, for Europe. He returned in 1920 and made a recital tour of California without causing any partic- ular stir in that state. A third visit, in 1921, brought performances of The Love for Three Oranges and the new Third Piano Concerto in Chicago; but the Opera, which was produced under the insistence of Mary Garden, and was carried to New York, was not well received there. One wonders whether Prokofieff showed his Classical Symphony to any conductors besides Altschuler. This, or his vocal suite, The Ugly Duckling, a precursor of Peter and the Wolf, might well have wooed audiences to a due acclamation and awakened critics to a reali- zation that he was something else than a "wild Bolshevik."

[10] He dwelt in Western Europe until 1932, and, thanks to the ballets Chout, Le Pas d'acier, and L'Enfant prodigue, produced by Diaghileff, the first four symphonies, the opera The Gambler, the choral Sept, ils sont sept, five piano sonatas, and several small works, his considera- ble stature was more fully recognized. Meanwhile, Serge Koussevitzky had been his consistent champion. He had been among the first to introduce his music in Russia, and likewise became his publisher. He had brought out each of his orchestral works in Paris, as they appeared. It was in his third program in Boston that Koussevitzky began to make known to us the music of Prokofieff with the Scythian Suite. He con- tinued to conduct ProkofiefFs works throughout his Boston career, repeating the best of them, and carrying them to other cities. The last country to become aware of Prokofieff thus became second to none in admiration of his importance and the enjoyment of his music. This Orchestra soon became and continued to be the principal one to introduce the music of Prokofieff in this part of the world. Sixty- one performances of twenty-two different works are listed in the programs through the years. Of these the following had their first performance in the United States: the two Violin Concertos; suite from The Love for Three Oranges; suite from Le pas d'acier; the Second and Fifth Piano Concertos; the Fourth and Fifth Symphonies; suite from The Gambler; suite from Lieutenant Kije; the second suite from Romeo and Juliet; Peter and the Wolf; the 'Cello Concerto. Most of these works were likewise introduced in New York City by Serge Koussevitzky.

J. N. B.

Q^j

EDNA NITKIN, M.Mus. PIANIST ACCOMPANIST TEACHER

Studio: 500 Boylston St., Copley Sq. Boston KE 6-4062

[»] SYMPHONY IN B-FLAT MAJOR NO. 4, Op. 60 By Ludwig van Beethoven

Born at Bonn, December 16 (?) , 1770; died at Vienna, March 26, 1827

This symphony was completed in 1806 and dedicated to the Count Franz von Oppersdorf. The first performance was in March, 1801, at the house of Prince Lobkowitz in Vienna. It is scored for flute, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani and strings.

The long opening Adagio has none of the broad chords or flourishes of the classical introduction; it is no meandering fantasia but a

reverie, precisely conceived, musing upon its own placid theme in a sombre minor which is soon to be banished. Incisive staccato chords establish at once the brightness of B-flat major and the beat of the

allegro vivace. The subject matter of this movement is as abundant as

that of the first movement of the Eroica, the exposition extending through 154 bars, unfolding one new thought after another in simple

and inevitable continuity. The main theme, with its staccato notes, is taken up by the whole orchestra and then given humorously (and

differently) to the bassoon over whispered trills from the violins. It generates excitement in the violins and breaks with energic syncopated chords which bring in the dominant key, and from the flute the graceful and lilting second subject, which suggests a crescendo in short chords and a new theme in canonic dialogue between the clarinet and bassoon. Another syncopated subject ends the section. The de- velopment plays lightly with fragments of the principal theme, and

the little rhythmic figure which introduced it. The theme is combined

with the second theme proper. There is a full recapitulation, more brilliantly written.

The Adagio is built upon a theme first heard from the strings and then from the full choirs in a soft cantabile. The accompanying

rhythmic figure pervades the movement with its delicate accentua- tion, appearing by turn in each part of the orchestra, now and then

in all parts at once, and at the last quite alone in the timpani. This instrument, used only for reinforcing up to this point, takes on a special coloring. The movement continues its even, dreaming course with not a moment of full sonority. It sings constantly in every part. Even the ornamental passages of traditional slow movement develop- ment are no longer decoration, but dainty melodic tracery. No other

slow movement of Beethoven is just like this one. What Wagner wrote of Beethoven in general can be applied to this Adagio in a special sense: "The power of the musician cannot be grasped otherwise than through the idea of magic. Assuredly while listening we fall into an enchanted state. In all parts and details which to sober senses are like a complex

[1*] of technical means cunningly contrived to fulfill a form, we now per- ceive a ghostlike animation ... a pulsation of undulating joy, lam- entation and ecstasy, all of which seem to spring from the depths of

our own nature. . . . Every technical detail ... is raised to the highest

significance of spontaneous effusion." There is no accessory here, no framing of a melody; every part in the accompaniment, each rhythmi- cal note, indeed each rest, everything becomes melody.

The third movement is characterized by alternate phrases between wood winds and strings. The Trio, which in interest dominates the

Scherzo section, makes a second return before the close, the first symphonic instance of what was to be a favorite device. The finale, which is marked allegro ma non troppo, takes an easily fluent pace, as is fitting in a symphony not pointed by high brilliance. Its de- lightful twists and turns have an adroitness setting a new precedent in final movements.

It has been noted that in all of his even-numbered symphonies, Beethoven was content to seek softer beauties, reserving his de- fiances, his true depths of passion for the alternate ones. There may well have been something in his nature which required this alterna- tion, a trait perhaps also accountable for the thematic alternation of virility and gentleness, of the "masculine" and the "feminine" in his scores of this period. For the years 1804-1806 were the years of the

colossus first finding his full symphonic strength, and glorying in it, and at the same time the years of the romantic lover, capable of being entirely subdued and subjugated by feminine charm. They were the years which produced the "Eroica" and C minor symphonies, and the "Appassionato," Sonata on the one hand; on the other, the Fourth Symphony and the Fourth Piano Concerto, not to mention Fidelio and the three Razumowsky Quartets. It may have been some inner law of artistic equilibrium which induced Beethoven, after drafting two movements for his C minor Symphony in 1805, to set them aside, and devote himself, in 1806, to the gentler contours of the Sym- phony in B-flat, which, completed in that year, thus became the fourth in number. Robert Schumann compared this Symphony to a "Greek maiden between two Norse giants." The Fourth, overshadowed by the more imposing stature of the "Eroica" and the Fifth, has not lacked champions. "The character of this score," wrote Berlioz, "is gen- erally lively, nimble, joyous, or of a heavenly sweetness." Thayer, who bestowed his adjectives guardedly, singled out the "placid and serene Fourth Symphony — the most perfect in form of them all"; and Sir George Grove, a more demonstrative enthusiast, found in it some- thing "extraordinarily entrainant — a more consistent and attractive

[if] whole cannot be. . . . The movements fit in their places like the limbs and features of a lovely statue; and, full of fire and invention as they are, all is subordinated to conciseness, grace, and beauty." The composer has left to posterity little of the evidence usually found in his sketchbooks of the time and course of composition. He has simply (but incontrovertibly) fixed the year, inscribing at the top of his manuscript score: "Sinfonia ^ta 1806 — L. v. Bthvn." This date has been enough to enkindle the imagination of more than one writer. It was probably early in May of 1801 that Beethoven took a post chaise from Vienna to visit his friends the Brunswicks at their an- cestral estate in Martonvasar, Hungary. There he found Count Franz von Brunswick, and the Count's sisters Therese and Josephine (then a widow of twenty-six), and the younger Karoline. Therese and Josephine ("Tesi" and "Pepi") seem to have had the composer's more interested attention. Therese, who always held his warm regard, was once championed as the "immortal beloved," and it was even sup- posed that she and Beethoven became engaged in this summer and that the Adagio of the Fourth Symphony was his musical declaration. Unfortunately for the romancers, the book by Mariam Tenger* upon which they had reached their conclusions, has been quite discredited.

"Beethoven's Unsterbliche Qeliebte," 1890.

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The diaries of Therese, since examined, clearly show that she held Beethoven in high and friendly esteem — nothing more. Pepi, on the other hand, is mentioned by Therese as being interested in Beethoven to the danger point, and has recently been put forward as the mysterious beloved. This summer infatuation may have had a single lasting effect — the agreeable one of stimulating music. Romain Rol- land, who made more of the affair with Therese von Brunswick than

these subsequent discoveries justify, yet came to the still plausible conclusion that the Fourth Symphony was the direct outcome of Bee- thoven's stay at Martonvasar, "a pure, fragrant flower which treasures

up the perfume of these days, the calmest in all his life."

The felicity of Martonvasar seems to have found its reflection in the Symphony. The gusty lover was in abeyance for the time being.

Beethoven dominated the affections of all, but not in a way to ruffle the blessed succession of summer days and nights in the Hungarian manor, secluded in its immense acres where a row of lindens was singled out and one chosen as sacred to each of the little circle, Beethoven in- cluded. [copyrighted]

Friends of the Boston Symphony Orchestra

travel with yonr Orchestra in Europe!

A special meeting of the Friends will take place on Thurs-

day afternoon, February 14, at 4 o'clock, Symphony Hall,

Boston. It will be open to Friends only. Mr. J. Edward Fitzgerald of United Press News Pictures, who travelled

with the Orchestra last summer, will show colored slides of

the European tour.

Each Friend enrolled by February 7, will receive by mail

a card of admission. Palfrey Perkins Chairman

[-5] .

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For Carling's now in Natick, brewing ale and beer Worthy of a connoisseur, worthy of a Peer."

CARLING BREWING CO.

[16] SEVENTY-SIXTH SEASON • NINETEEN HUNDRED FIFTY-SIX AND FIFTY-SEVEN

Seventy-First Season in New York

Fourth Afternoon Concert

SATURDAY, February 9

Program

Britten Variations for String Orchestra, on a Theme by Frank Bridge, Op. 10 Introduction and Theme Variations: Adagio — March — Aria Italiana — Bourree classique — Moto perpetuo — Marcia funebre — Fugue and Finale.

Prokofieff Piano Concerto No. 2, in G minor, Op. 16

I. Andantino; Allegretto; Andantino II. Scherzo: Vivace III. Intermezzo: Allegro moderato IV. Finale: Allegro tempestoso

INTERMISSION

Brahms Symphony No. 1, in C minor, Op. 68

I. Un poco sostenuto; Allegro II. Andante sostenuto III. Un poco allegretto e grazioso IV. Adagio; Allegro non troppo, ma con brio

SOLOIST NICOLE HENRIOT Miss Henriot uses the Baldwin Piano

Performances by this orchestra are broadcast each week on Monday evenings from 8:05 to 9:00 P.M. on the NBC Radio Network.

Music of these programs is available at the Music Library, 58th Street Branch, the New York Public Library. BALDWIN PIANO RCA VICTOR RECORDS

[17] VARIATIONS FOR STRING ORCHESTRA ON A THEME OF FRANK BRIDGE, Op. 10 By

Born at Lowestoft, England, November 22, 1913

These Variations were composed in 1937 and in that year had their first perform- ance, at the Salzburg Festival. They were performed at the Boston Symphony Con- certs April 25-26, 1941, and February 3-4, 1950.

npHE brief introduction to the Variations consists of broad chords

- and displayful runs and trills. The theme is given out by the first

violins allegro poco lento. It is to be varied with such freedom as often to be scarcely recognizable. The descending interval of a fifth which

begins it becomes a sort of earmark. An "Adagio" follows, consisting of soft chords for lower strings and ornamental passages for the violins.

There is a lively "March," light and staccato, presto alia marcia. An "Aria Italiana" follows, allegro brillante. The first violins with orna- mental trills suggest the operatic, coloratura style. The next movement

is a "Bourree Classique," a simple but strongly rhythmed movement with a pianissimo middle section. A Moto Perpetuo progresses upon rapid and unremitting sixteenth notes to a fortissimo climax. A Marcia

Funebre follows. The final Fugue is in a lively 12-8 rhythm, sometimes

suggestive, as it gathers impetus, of the tarantella. The orchestra, much divided, attains a considerable complexity and sets forth the usual devices of augmentation and inversion. At last, lento e solenne, the violins revert to a full-length statement of the theme. The orchestra ultimately spreads into diaphanous arpeggios, punctuated in the last measure by a strong chord. A "Wiener Walz" and "Chant" are omitted in this performance.

Benjamin Britten was only twelve years old when he began to study with Frank Bridge, his fellow English composer, who remained his life-long friend.* Mr. Britten attended the Royal College of Music of London, where John Ireland became his teacher in composition, Arthur Benjamin his teacher in piano. It was in 1934, when the composer was barely of age, that his music, which he produced with considerable regularity, began to be played. His published works include a for chamber orchestra, 1932; Phantasy for oboe and strings, 1932; Choral Variations , 1933; for string orchestra, 1934; Holiday Tales for piano, 1934; Te Deum for chorus and organ, 1934; Suite

* Frank Bridge conducted his own orchestral suite "The Sea" at the concerts of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, October 26, 1923. He died in 1941.

[18] for Violin and Piano, 1935; Friday Afternoon, School Songs, 1935; , symphonic cycle for soprano and orchestra, 1936; Soirees Musicales, Suite for orchestra, 1936; On This Island, songs by W. H. Auden, 1937; Mont Juic, Catalan Dance Suite, 1937; Piano Concerto, 1938; Ballad of Heroes, for tenor, chorus and orchestra, 1939; Violin Concerto; Les Illuminations, for voice and string orches- tra; Kermesse Canadienne, for orchestra; (in 1940). In 1940 also he composed his opera , and it has been in the following years that he has established himself in the world of opera. (introduced to this country by the Berkshire Music Center at Tanglewood in 1946) has been followed by (introduced to this country by the Berkshire Music Center at

Tanglewood, 1949), , , The Turn of the Screw, (on the subject of his Queen, on her coronation). He has revised The Beggar's Opera and recently composed a children's opera Let's Make an Opera in which the audience participates. He has written a cantata, St. Nicholas, and a with chorus which had its first American performance at the Berkshire Festival in 1949. Mr. Britten, who has visited this country several times, made a tour with the tenor Peter Pears, accompanying the singer and conduct- ing his own music. [copyrighted]

PIANO CONCERTO NO. 2, in G minor, Op. 16 By Serge Sergeivitch Prokofieff

(For Notes See page 5)

PROKOFIEFF AS A RUSSIAN ARTIST

/^vf the two principal composers who have come from Russia in ^-^ this century, one became a cosmopolitan artist and never returned to the land of his origin. The other tried his fortunes in both East and West, returned and sought to re-establish his Russian roots. Is ProkofiefFs music basically Russian? We know that he learned from Russian masters, and that he has felt a blood kinship with his people. We also know from his music, first to last, that he early developed a very definite, personal style, independent of any country or influence, and that his style, throughout the years, has never changed. He matured orchestrally in his last three symphonies, but never lost his lively and engaging fantasy for depiction in ballet, opera or film. He

[19] became and remained the principal composer of Soviet Russia. Nicolas Nabokov also finds his music truly Russian: "There exists a powerful interrelation," he writes, "between Prokofieff as an artist, as a human being, and the Russia of today [1951]. In particular his art has served as a leaden among the younger generation of Soviet composers. In fact, few pages of the early works of Shostakovitch, of Khatchaturian, and of many others, are free from a specific relation to either

Prokofieff 's methods or his technique. In -the Soviet constellation Prokofieff has occupied for a long time the position of an older master (a position shared with Miaskovsky). Hence his works have been regarded as examples of artistic perfection, as objects worthy of imitation, and also as 'signposts' of the progress of Soviet musical culture." In view of the obvious authority and importance of Prokofieff in his country at this time, the effrontery of the politically inspired directive of 1948 which instructed him how to compose and how not to compose would be negligible, if it were not also ominous, a threat to the composer of obliteration by nonperformance and nonsupport. The resolution of the Central Committee of the Communist Party which condemned him for having fallen into the error of "formalist" tendencies and Western "bourgeois" influences must have been either moved by envy of his foremost position among composers in Russia, or simply by ignorance of the real nature of his music. He has never been "formalistic" in the sense of adopting a constructive formula such as twelve-tonalism or elaborate counterpoint, obscure to the general listener. Nor has he reflected the ways of Western composers as has, for example, Shostakovitch. On the contrary, his scores have always been transparent in texture, thanks to his craft and his dislike of contrapuntal involvement. His rhythms have always been simplicity itself, his melodies appealing though not conventional. Since he was denounced on just these points, the denunciation in Pravda on February 10, 1948, becomes meaningless to anyone who really knows his music. Every accusation was contrary to fact. He had established himself permanently in Russia since 1939 (after which time he was given no passport); with an evident sympathy for his own people he had composed the ballets on Russian subjects — Le pas d'acier

and Sur le Borysthene, patriotic cantatas for the Twentieth Anniver- sary of the October Revolution, and on the historical Alexander Nevsky, the Operas Semyon Kotko and War and Peace, together of course with music not directly connected with Russian subjects. When

the blow fell he was seriously ill, having just suffered his third heart attack. He was evidently obliged to write an open retraction and confess to each of the sins he had not committed. His letter to Khren- '

nikov in which he confesses the error of his ways and promises to do better is a tragic spectacle of the humiliation of the composer whom his Western friends had long known as proud to the point of arrogance, intractable, ruthlessly frank about music, and particularly his own. These are the outstanding facts about Prokofieff in the description of him by Nicolas Nabokov in Old Friends and New Music, the best

word picture of him in the English language. It is distressing to read admissions by this usually fearless and defiant artist that he has "caught the infection" (of formalism) "apparently from contact with a number of Western trends"; that he has accepted the "prerequisites" they have laid down for "the return to health of the entire organism of Soviet music." Looking closer we find qualifying clauses which seem to restore the old Prokofieff. He writes before the passage last quoted: "No matter how painful for a number of composers, myself

included, it may be, I welcome the Resolution — ." In the other quotation we seize upon the word "apparently." Told to write assimilable melody, he endorses the idea. "One must possess special

vigilance to keep a melody simple without transforming it into some- thing cheap, saccharine, or imitative," which of course had been a vigilance triumphantly possessed by Prokofieff all along. Told to put more arias and less recitative into his operas, probably in reference

to War and Peace, which is based largely on a narrative text and is actually handled with a fresh mastery of lyrical recitative, he answers tartly that arias freeze the visual action. "I like the stage as such, and

I believe that a person who goes to the opera has a right to expect not only aural but visual impressions — or else he would not go to the opera, but to a concert." Prokofieff's letter, needless to say, did not meet with official favor.

There is evidence of his unrepentance a year later. The following incident was reported by Lieutenant-General Walter Bedell Smith

("My Three Years in Moscow," N. Y. Times, November 25, 1949): "At the session where the matter was discussed, Prokofieff, I was told, kept his back turned while Shvernik and Zhdanov talked, and when reprimanded for his inattention, said bitterly, 'Oh, I know it all already,' adding in a loud aside to Shostakovitch: 'What do ministers know of music? That is the business of composers.'

Perhaps it was with the purpose of punishing him further that an official dictum condemned his sincerely intended patriotic opera, The Life of a Real Person as "an unpardonable distortion of Soviet Reality," a "base mixture of formalistic habits." When a proper time had elapsed, namely three years, he was rein- stated by the award of the Stalin Prize for the Oratorio On Guard of Peace and the Symphonic Suite Winter Bonfire. If these honored masterpieces are not already forgotten, let us predict that the Sixth Symphony of 1947, plainly music from the composer's heart and quite unprompted by any "directive," a work which was frowned upon, will outlast them. Nabokov tells us that Prokofieff was never particularly interested in politics and never espoused communism as politically desirable.

"Prokofieff accepted the Russian Revolution in its 'totality' and saw in the new Russia the logical consequence of the old one, the result

of a century-long process of emancipation. He was, and surely still is, a sincere and instinctive Russian patriot, who gives little thought to the question of justice or injustice of the Soviet government and

regards its acts as the result of a kind of inexplicable historical neces-

sity. In other words, he is a person whose political thinking never

developed and who, not unlike many American artists, believed that his main job was to do his own work and leave political matters and entanglements to others. At the same time he felt very strongly his

profound association, or rather his organic tie, with Russia, with the Russian people and Russian culture. Despite his long years abroad and his position as a famous composer in the Western world, he remained essentially Russian, in his habits, his behavior and his art." j. N. B.

ENTR'ACTE MUSIC OF YESTERDAY AND TODAY By Pablo Casals

' * Conversations with Casals" by Dr. J. Ma. Corredor, translated by Andre Mangeot, has just been published in England by Hutchinson & Co., Ltd. It is a virtual autobiography in the form of a series of interviews in which the writer offers questions or provocative quotations (here italicized). Pau Casals, answering, is thus drawn to relate both his life experiences and his opinions. A few excerpts from the chapter with the above title are here quoted. Curiously enough, Furtwangler says about the finale of the Ninth Symphony: "This theme — a theme par excellence, a theme of the highest type, the discovery of a great musician if ever there was one, this theme could not be in any way conceived in order to comment or expound one particular text. Just the opposite: it looks as if it were the poem which expounds the theme." This theme becomes the musical climax (exclusively musical) of this symphony, but I cannot agree with anyone who says that it was not inspired by the Ode to Joy. When I hear it, I get an impression which is almost religious, a sort of feeling of fraternity, and it penetrates me like a glorious musical rendering of the poetical humanitarianism of Schiller. • • "

Is Schubert a symphonist? The Unfinished very often played — the

C Major Symphony, not so often. The others . . .? We are beginning to understand the other symphonies. There was a time when people talked about the lengthiness of Schubert's works. It doesn't exist! One day in Vienna, at the house of Karl Wittenstein,

I saw the old manuscript of Schubert's Second Trio for piano, viola

and violoncello. On it I saw annotations and a cut made by Joachim —

it just shows you how wrong great men can be! No cuts are required in Schubert. Joachim made the same mistake as Schumann, Gounod, Grieg and so many others in regard to some of Bach's works.

As for the string quintet with two violoncelli you have played . . . So many times and always with the greatest admiration and the deepest emotion!

In Schubert do you feel that indefinable nostalgia of which he is supposed to have the secret?

If one has to enumerate all the things one can find in his music!

Many biographers content themselves merely with noting the exist- ence of Schumann's Cello Concerto. It must be because they fail to see the interest and the value of this work. It is one of the finest works one can hear — from beginning to end the music is sublime.

"Schumann's themes are generally brief, rarely more than four bars, very often written in an ascending line which gives to the melody an interrogative character, very typical of Schumann's restlessness."

That is true!

Talking of Schumann, Furtwangler says "His flights faltered pre- maturely." Many have spoken of his difficulty, even the impossibility for him in developing his themes. "The conciseness of his themes," says Cceuroy, "has brought about the criticism of 'short inspiration.' There is no question of "brief inspiration" with Schumann. I find that in any of his compositions the inspiration never weakens from beginning to end. Schumann is preeminently a person who acts under the influence of some mystical inspiration, what the French call an inspire, and I mean it in its highest sense. The structural elements of his works are those best fitted to his needs of expression, and it would be out of place to speak of any incapacity for development. If his themes are short it must be simply because this conciseness suited his inspiration and not because Schumann could not or did not know how to develop them.

[*3] There were some musicians and music-lovers at that time who said that Wagner "killed" melody and also that he gave the wind instru- ments an importance out of all proportion. Right from the beginning I thought that Wagner's music was great and that he used very natural means of expression which were easy to understand.

Were you impressed by all his symbolism, his philosophy, and other considerations that were outside the realm of music?

No. I was not interested in those: it was the music which impressed me straight away.

Your friend, Ysaye, having heard Tristan for the first time, speaks of an "annihilation in rapture." When he got home, having taken his shoes off he threw them on the fire, at the thought that in his life one had to give up ecstasy in order to attend to things as dull as unlacing one's shoes.

I did not throw my shoes in the fire after I heard Tristan, but I remember how deeply moved I was, I am sure quite as much as my dear friend Ysaye. There must have been very few musicians of my generation who did not fall under the spell of Tristan.

About Brahms' music, Darius Milhaud said, not very long ago, "Bogus greatness, long drawn out."

No, Milhaud is wrong. Brahms is a great composer amongst the great ones.

"Whoever likes or dislikes Brahms cannot avoid his great personality, which is precisely the reason why he is accepted or rejected; his music calls at once for adherence or refusal. There is no middle way." (Rene Dumesnil.)

If one is sensitive and not perverse, one can only reject what is bad, ugly or stupid. Are there any trustworthy or truthful people who could apply these adjectives to Brahms' music? Therefore, those people Mr. Dumesnil has in mind in his article have not got the right to intervene in the cause of the composer. Brahms' position in France should be made clear once and for all. Mr. Dumesnil could do that very well. He knows that the French public would like to hear Brahms, but that a number of musicians and critics always run him down and try to stop further performances out of pure prejudice. The proof of this prejudice of the critics and composers towards Brahms' music is contained in the false accusation that this music is too Germanic. (The same might apply to Mahler, Bruckner, Reger, etc.) Pierre Lalo, the celebrated critic, is largely responsible for this state of affairs, which spread from France to countries like Belgium, Switzerland (the Romande part), Italy and Spain. It may be due to incomprehension on his part, but I should say it is mostly dictated by bad faith, which is sad to relate. I have known a time, in Paris, when it was impossible to speak of Brahms to Debussy or Ravel, and even to Faure. It hurts me to think of it. I can remember an article in Figaro signed by Alfred Bruneau after a

[24] performance of the Brahms Violin Concerto at a concert of the Colonne Orchestra. He only wrote: "Mr. Carl Flesch played the long and heavy concerto of Brahms."

Did Faure also dislike Brahms?

Faure always asked me to sit on the jury for the yearly cello competi- tion when I was in Paris. One year the candidates had to play a Brahms piece, and I have not forgotten the remarks Faure made to me on the music!

Some people have said that the misunderstanding of Brahms' music in France could be compared to the same misunderstanding of Faure 's music in Germany. Did you play Faure in Germany during your tours in that country?

Yes, I have played Faure in Germany, Austria and in the German part of Switzerland.

And how did the public take it?

Always very favourably, although I must own that Faure is almost unknown and little played in Germany.

Numerous musicians think Richard Strauss is the greatest composer of the XXth century.

That is possible. In any case I admire him enormously. In all his work you find such clarity and precision; his way of treating and bringing out instrumental colour is positively extraordinary and I doubt anyone having surpassed him in that direction. What do you think of impressionism? To my mind musical impressionism, of which Debussy and Ravel are undoubtedly the leaders, is a decadent deviation from the stream of great music. Not that I deny the value of what these two composers have created: their new artistic formula is of great interest and denotes an exquisite poetical charm and is very suggestive. If one wanted to put a label on impressionism (if labels could prove anything) one could write on it "decorative music". Debussy's melodic line is far from being remarkable: it is through his harmonic invention that he has given to his works the interest and charm of which I was speaking. You knew Ravel when he was very young?

Yes, it was at the time when we all visited Mrs. Ram. In those days Ravel was still a student attending Faure's composition classes at the Conservatoire. He asked me one day to listen to one of his latest com- positions. It was the Pavane pour une Infante Defunte. I told him that (as I thought) it was a masterly little work. He was surprised, as I remember it, and, of course, as I told you, he was still a student. Enesco used to ask: "Who is not touched by the charm of Ravel or Debussy? But, besides this charm, I should like some broader and more spacious music" (I cannot vouch that these are his actual words, but it was what he meant).

I quite agree with Enesco. And what about Faure?

[25] Faure may have contributed to the impressionist school of music with his great delicacy and his capacity for harmonic invention, but he derives from the central growth of art. To use a simile, we could think of Faure as coming from the trunk of great music, while Debussy and Ravel are only offshoots of a branch.

/ have heard it said that Faure had the rare privilege of being "the man of his work". Yes, both as a man and as a composer we find in him a deep and exquisite nature.

• • •

Did you know Schonberg well? Yes, I was in touch with him, I followed his evolution and, through conversations I had with him, I know what his anxieties and aspira- tions were. I know where he stands, and when I hear that he and some modern composers are put together in the same category I say: No, there is a mistake. In Schonberg we have a man who deliberately chose the path of research with complete sincerity towards himself. Some people thought that, because he was successful, he allowed himself to write insignificant works in the belief that they would naturally be applauded by people who were unable to understand his compositions, but wanted to look as if they did. Schonberg was not like that: he had musical genius and he revered all composers who deserved it. (What would some of the iconoclasts of our time say if they had heard him say, as I have, how well he under- stood and admired even a composer like Donizetti?) With the prophetic instinct of his race and his profound devotion to music he wished to explore unknown spheres, like atonality, with the object of finding out what could be done with it. His attitude was one of self-sacrifice — it consisted of putting on one side the "known" methods (in which he excelled) in order to penetrate into the "un- known". His goal was not to break with the past, but to increase the treasures of music with the new possibilities produced by his researches. What was he like as a person? Oh, delightful! Very simple, full of charm and possessing a brilliant intelligence.

• • •

What do you think of the result of Schonberg's innovations? By and' large I think that some of his ideas will help in the normal (but not purely cerebral) development of music. But, on the other hand, I think that some of his innovations will prove fruitless. I remember one day in Vienna when Schonberg talked to me of his plans. In spite of all his enthusiasm, I could not escape the vision of the abyss which was opening beneath his feet!

• • •

What impression did Alban Berg's "Wozzeck" make on you?

That of a master who moves in a world that is not mine. Do you think of atonality as fundamentally wrong?

Not wrong in principle. I have used it myself to describe some kind

[26] of musical vision, especially in my Sardana for 'celli. But before and after these descriptive passages, I have written some real music. (Vin- cent d'Indy wrote to me about my Sardana for 'celli congratulating me and explaining that he agreed with my way of using atonality. At the end of his letter he quoted a bit of the Sardana that he specially liked.) A composer has a right to use any means, even atonality, at a given time. We find Bach, Chopin and Wagner using it as a means to create an impression. But can music be reduced to a series of impressions as our modern composers try to do? It has no sense. It is absurd to turn atonality into a system.

• • •

You told me once that one could establish a parallel between Picasso and Stravinsky. Yes. Picasso has said: "All my pictures are only experiments." For centuries the masters of music have kept their experiments to themselves and thought that they should only give to listeners the works which they had felt, thought over and allowed to mature. One cannot stop evolution in the Arts. We should not confuse natural evolution with a complete rupture with the past. A musician can get rid of restraints and find his own way without breaking, in a fit of temper, with all the ties which connect him with the experiments of his predecessors. Evolution following a normal course has always existed, and always will exist.

"We used to think that when an artist had originality it was revealed without effort on his part. We found that the pleasure of the unex- pected was born of those occasions when we were denied the pleasure of the expected. The variety, the very modifications a musician brought to the construction and the language used, were worked out within the accepted framework. But, in most present-day compositions, since the listener is unable to anticipate anything while the music is going on, the sensation of the unexpected has disappeared." (Max d'Ollone.)

It is true. The exaggerated desire for originality leads to worse aberrations. Each one of us possesses as much originality as the most modest creation of nature. How many leaves are on this tree in the garden, and yet there are not two alike! If you see a friend coming in the distance you will know him by his gait; there is no need for him to gesticulate in any fancy way in order that you may know who it is. Why? Just because he has his own characteristics, his originality in fact. In music it is easy to gesticulate and talk nonsense, in order to appear original; the difficulty is to put one's own mark on a composi- tion while using the accepted language which is comprehensible to all.

• • •

Prokofieff said: "I have been trying to find a melodious and clear language without renouncing the harmonic and melodic shapes uni- versally acknowledged. And this is where the difficulty comes in: to write music with a new clarity." The great masters have used the recognised harmonic system, but

[*7] they have done it with such art and individual genius that their works always seem new. In Bach and Mozart I can easily perceive a "new clarity". I think that Prokofieff and Bartok are both extraordinarily gifted musicians. Some of their compositions will certainly survive triumphantly the test of time. The rest of their work I am not so sure about. And Hindemithf I have not seen Hindemith since 1932, when I played with him, Schnabel and Huberman in Vienna at some chamber music concerts I shall never forget. Never mind what his theories were; he has left unmistakable proofs of his remarkable talent as a composer. A critic wrote about one of his last works, "Nobilissima Visione," that Hindemith has used again "a language which speaks to the heart". All to the good. What of Milhaud? Milhaud has a great gift for composition and has given us some mag- nificent works. It is a pity that he also thought he had to be "modern" at all costs. I have a most touching letter from Milhaud in which he tells me of the impression I made on him the first time he heard me, when he was very young. Honegger?

It seems to me that he is one of the contemporary composers of greatest musical value. (I think that the best composer of our time is Ernest Bloch.) In spite of his "modernism" Honegger refrained from going beyond certain limits. He has been influenced by modern ten- dencies but has known how to choose some innovations and reject others, while remaining faithful to what we may define as a musical idea, the thing that so many contemporary musicians have just abolished. Musicians as modern as Honegger and Hindemith have said about dodecaphonism: "This serial system prides itself on having very strict rules. These people look to me like convicts, who having shaken off their chains, voluntarily tie up their feet with weights in order to run ." quicker! . . (Honegger.) "One can invent as many arbitrary rules of this kind as one chooses. But if one chooses to use them to produce a new style of musical composition, I think one could find other rules less narrow and more interesting. The idea of dodecaphonism seems to me more theoretic than all the pedantries the tradi- t of professors of tional harmony." (Hindemith.)

I am delighted to hear that Honegger and Hindemith say those things. What is necessary is that composers understand the art of expressing oneself musically. Those who have nothing to say should do something else. And those who truly feel a deep necessity to com- pose should do so in ways which may be new but which must in any case be simple and comprehensible. I insist: It is not the procedure that matters, but the result. In the long run, time will choose, and give to everyone the place he deserves. Simplicity in forms of expression has never been prejudicial to a sincere creator, for he always knows that originality is above all a gift. I have heard a lot of music in the course of my long career, but every [28] time I hear Haydn I have the impression that I hear some newly dis- covered thing. Great music, if well performed, is sufficiently rich to keep intact the sense of novelty and to increase the desire to hear it again.

Honegger is very pessimistic on the future of music: "At present, what plays the most important part in compositions is the use of rhythmical shock in contrast to voluptuous melody. At the present rate we shall have by the end of this century an elementary, barbarous music which will combine elemental melody with brutally scanned rhythm. This will admirably suit the deformed ear of the music-lover of the year 2000V I do not share these pessimistic views. Aesthetically, the receptive faculties do not disappear any more than the discriminative moral faculties. There are periods of crisis and straying, but man finds again the notion of things that are beautiful and pure. Furtwangler says: "Technical questions like tonality and atonality, historical considerations, are all secondary in relation to this other question: in which proportion does the music of today represent ade- quately what we are? How much of ourselves do we find in this music? This question is positively a question of conscience: it would deter- mine the truth of our musical expression and the authenticity of our existence as musicians/' These words seem to hit the nail on the head. The criterion of con- science is what will prevail in the end, because the great things of humanity will never change and what we shall always find in artistic creation is the man, the man in flesh and blood and not an abstract thousands of years old, like Chinese and Indian poetry. They have the same reason for existing as our true music has. Their life is the same today as in all eternity.

Carnegie Hall, New York

Boston Symphony Orchestra

CHARLES MUNCH, Music Director

Fifth Pair of Concerts

Wednesday Evening, March 20

Saturday Afternoon, March 23

[29] SYMPHONY IN C MINOR, NO. 1, Op. 68 By Johannes Brahms

Born in Hamburg, May 7, 1833; died in Vienna, April 3, 1897

The First Symphony of Brahms had its initial performance November 4, 1876, at Carlsruhe, Otto Dessoff conducting.

The symphony is scored for 2 flutes, 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, contra- bassoon, 4 horns, 2 trumpets, 3 trombones, timpani and strings The trombones are used only in the finale.

Not until he was forty-three, did Brahms present his First Sym- phony to the world. His friends had long looked to him ex- pectantly to carry on this particular glorious German tradition. As early as 1854 Schumann, who had staked his strongest prophecies on Brahms' future, wrote to Joachim: "But where is Johannes? Is he flying high, or only under the flowers? Is he not yet ready to let drums and trumpets sound? He should always keep in mind the beginning of the Beethoven symphonies: he should try to make something like them.

The beginning is the main thing; if only one makes a beginning, then the end comes of itself." Schumann, that shrewd observer, knew that the brief beginnings of Brahms were apt to germinate, to expand, to lead him to great ends. Also, that Beethoven, symphonically speaking, would be his point of departure. To write a symphony after Beethoven was "no laughing matter," Brahms once wrote, and after sketching a first movement he admitted to Hermann Levi — "I shall never compose a symphony! You have no conception of how the likes of us feel when we hear the tramp of a giant like him behind us."

To study Brahms is to know that this hesitancy was not prompted by any craven fear of the hostile pens which were surely lying in wait for such an event as a symphony from the newly vaunted apostle of classicism. Brahms approached the symphony (and the concerto too) slowly and soberly; no composer was ever more scrupulous in the com- mitment of his musical thoughts to paper. He proceeded with elaborate examination of his technical equipment — with spiritual self-question- ing — and with unbounded ambition. The result — a period of fourteen years between the first sketch and the completed manuscript; and a score which, in proud and imposing independence, in advance upon all precedent — has absolutely no rival among the first-born symphonies, before or since.

His first attempt at a symphony, made at the age of twenty, was diverted in its aim, the first two movements eventually becoming the basis of his piano concerto No. 1, in D minor. He sketched another

[30] first movement at about the same time (1854), but it lay in his desk for years before he felt ready to take the momentous plunge. "For about fourteen years before the work appeared," writes D. Millar Craig,* "it was an open secret among Brahms' best friends that his first sym- phony was practically complete. Professor Lipsius of Leipzig Univer- sity, who knew Brahms well and had often entertained him, told me that from 1862 onwards, Brahms almost literally carried the manu- script score about with him in his pocket, hesitating to have it made public. Joachim and Frau Schumann, among others, knew that the symphony was finished, or at all events practically finished, and urged Brahms over and over again to let it be heard. But not until 1876 could his diffidence about it be overcome." It would be interesting to follow the progress of the sketches. We know from Madame Schumann that she found the opening, as origi- nally submitted to her, a little bold and harsh, and that Brahms ac- cordingly put in some softening touches. "It was at Miinster am Stein," (1862) says Albert Dietrich, "that Brahms showed me the first move- ment of his symphony in C minor, which, however, only appeared much later, and with considerable alterations."

At length (November 4, 1876), Brahms yielded his manuscript to Otto Dessoff for performance at Carlsruhe. He himself conducted it at Mannheim, a few days later, and shortly afterward at Vienna, Leipzig, and Breslau. Brahms may have chosen Carlsruhe in order that so cru- cial an event as the first performance of his first symphony might have the favorable setting of a small community, well sprinkled with friends, and long nurtured in the Brahms cause. "A little town," he called it, "that holds a good friend, a good conductor, and a good orchestra." Brahms' private opinion of Dessoff, as we now know, was none too high. But Dessoff was valuable as a propagandist. He had sworn allegiance to the Brahms colors by resigning from his post as conductor of the Vienna Philharmonic because Brahms' Serenade in A major was re- fused. A few years before Dessoff at Carlsruhe, there had been Hermann Levi, who had dutifully implanted Brahms in the public consciousness. Carlsruhe very likely felt honored by the distinction conferred upon them — and in equal degree puzzled by the symphony itself. There was no abundance of enthusiasm at these early performances, although Carlsruhe, Mannheim and Breslau were markedly friendly. The sym- phony seemed formidable at the first hearing, and incomprehensible — even to those favored friends who had been allowed an advance ac- quaintance with the manuscript score, or a private reading as piano duet, such as Brahms and Ignatz Briill gave at the home of Friedrich Ehrbar in Vienna. Even Florence May wrote of the "clashing disso- nances of the fi rst introduction." Respect and admiration the symphony

* British Broadcasting; Corporation Orchestra program notes.

[31] won everywhere. It was apprehended in advance that when the com- poser of the Deutsches Requiem at last fulfilled the prophecies of Schu- mann and gave forth a symphony, it would be a score to be reckoned with. No doubt the true grandeur Of the music, now so patent to every- one as by no means formidable, would have been generally grasped far sooner, had not the Brahmsians and the neo-Germans immediately raised a cloud of dust and kept their futile controversy raging for years. The First Symphony soon made the rounds of Germany, enjoying a particular success in Berlin, under Joachim (November 11, 1877). In March of the succeeding year it was also heard in Switzerland and Hol- land. The manuscript was carried to England by Joachim for a per- formance in Cambridge, and another in London in April, each much applauded. The first performance in Boston took place January 3, 1878, under Carl Zerrahn and the Harvard Musical Association. When the critics called it "morbid," "strained," "unnatural," "coldly elabo- rated," "depressing and unedifying," Zerrahn, who like others of his time knew the spirit of battle, at once announced a second perform- ance for January 31. Sir George Henschel, an intrepid friend of Brahms, performed the C minor Symphony, with other works of the composer, in the Boston Symphony Orchestra's first year. Still more ink has been expended on a similarity admitted even by Florence May between the expansive and joyous C major melody sung by the strings in the Finale, and the theme of the Hymn to Joy in Beethoven's Ninth. The enemy of course raised the cry of "plagiarism." But a close comparison of the two themes shows them quite different in contour. Each has a diatonic, Volkslied character, and each is in- troduced with a sudden radiant emergence. The true resemblance between the two composers might rather lie in this, that here, as pat- ently as anywhere, Brahms has caught Beethoven's faculty of soaring to great heights upon a theme so naively simple that, shorn of its

associations, it would be about as significant as a subject for a musical primer. Beethoven often, and Brahms at his occasional best, could lift such a theme, by some strange power which entirely eludes analysis,

to a degree of nobility and melodic beauty which gives it the unmis- takable aspect of immortality. [copyrighted] ^n

[32] ) ;

RCA VICTOR RECORDS BOSTON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA

Recorded under the leadership of CHARLES MUNCH

Beethoven Overtures Leonore Nos. 1, 2, 3 ; "Fidelio" ; "Coriolan" Symphonies Nos. 5, 6, 7 Violin Concerto (Heifetz)

Berlioz "Fantastic Symphony" ; Overture to "Beatrice and Benedick"

"Romeo and Juliet" (complete) ; "Summer Nights" (De Los Angeles) ; "The Damnation of Faust" (complete) Brahms Piano Concerto No. 2 (Rubinstein)

Symphonies Nos. 2, 4 ; "Tragic Overture" Bruch Violin Concerto No. 1 (Menuhin) Chausson "Poeme" for Violin and Orchestra (Oistbakh) Chopin Piano Concerto No. 2 (Brailowsky)

Debussy "The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian" ; "Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun"; "The Blessed Damozel" (De Los Angeles) Handel "Water Music" Suite (arr. Harty) Haydn Symphony No. 104 Honegger Symphonies Nos. 2, 5 Lalo Overture to "Le Roi d'Ys"

Menotti Violin Concerto ( Spivakovsky ) Mozart Overture to "The Marriage of Figaro"

Ravel "Daphnis and Chloe" (complete) ; "Pavane"

Newly Recorded : "Bolero" ; "La Valse" ; "Rapsodie Espagnole" Roussel "Bacchus and Ariane," Suite No. 2 Saint-Saens "Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso" (Oistrakh) Overture to "La Princesse Jaune" Piano Concerto No. 4 (Brailowsky) Schubert Symphonies Nos. 2, 8 ( "Unfinished" Symphony Schumann Overture to "Genoveva" Symphony No. 1 Strauss "Don Quixote" (Soloist, Piatigorsky)

Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto (Milstf.in); "Francesoa da Rimini" ; "Romeo

and Juliet" ; Symphony No. 4

Among the recordings under the leadership of SERGE KOUSSEVITZKY

Bach Brandenburg Concertos Nos. 1, 6; Mozart "Eine kleine Nachtmusik" ; Sere- Suites Nos. 1, 4 nade No. 10, for Woodwinds; Sym- "Linz" Beethoven Symphonies Nos. 3, 5, 9 phonies Nos. 36, ; 39 "Classical" Symphony; "Lt. Berlioz "Harold in Italy" (Primrose) Prokofleff Kije" Suite ; "Romeo and Juliet," Suite Brahms Symphony No. 3 ; Violin Con- No. 2 ; Symphony No. 5 ; Violin Con- certo (Heifetz) certo No. 2 (Heifetz) Copland "A Lincoln Portrait" ; "Appala- Rachmaninoff "Isle of the Dead" chian Spring" ; "El Salon Mexico" Ravel "Bolero" ; "Ma Mere L'Oye" Suite Hanson Symphony No. 3 Schubert Symphony in B Minor, "Un- Harris Symphony No. 3 finished" Sibelius Symphonies Nos. 2, 5 Haydn Symphonies Nos. 92, "Oxford"; Strauss, R. "Don Juan" 94, "Surprise" Tchaikovsky Serenade in O ; Symphonies Khatchaturian Piano Concerto (Kapell) Nos. 4, 5 Mendelssohn Symphony No. 4, "Italian" Wagner Siegfried Tdyll

Recorded under the leadership of

Debussy "La Mer" ; "Nocturnes" Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 6, "Pathe- Liszt "Les Preludes" tique"

Mozart Piano Concertos Nos. 12, 18 ( Lili Kraus) Delibes Ballets "Sylvia," "Coppelia" by Scriabin "The Poem of Ecstasy" Members of the Boston Symphony Stravinsky "Le Sacre du Printemps" Orchestra

Recorded under the leadership of Leonard Bernstein

Stravinsky "L'Histoire du Soldat" ; Octet for Wind Instruments

The above recordings are available on Long Play (33% r.p.m.) and (in some cases) 45 r.p.m. "I find in the Baldwin superior

qualities. ... It gives me great

joy and inspiration to play the Baldwin." NICOLE HENRIOT

THE BALDWIN PIANO COMPANY 26 EAST 54th STREET NEW YORK CITY

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